Cupid Gets Surprised
Night came. Cupid filled his quiver with an equal number of gold- and lead-tipped arrows and flew through the firmament that separated the back of the sky from the front. When he reached the Kingdom-by-the-Great-Blue-Sea, he glided easily above the rooftops, peering into windows until he saw a couple holding hands and kissing. He smiled, strung his bow with a lead-tipped arrow, and shot through the open window and into the breast of the woman. Immediately she pushed her husband away, exclaiming, "I'm sick of this. This is all you care about, all you want to do. You don't care about me at all. All you care about is sex!"
The husband looked as if he had just been slapped, which, in a way, he had. "What just happened?" he asked, bewildered. "What did I do?"
Cupid chuckled quietly. "That's where their marriage was going, anyway. I just saved them from wasting a lot of time and energy getting there." Satisfied, he left to find Psyche.
The king's palace was in a meadow at the edge of a large grove of trees just outside the main village. The massive building was dark except for the dim yellow of candlelight from a window on the top floor, at the rear. As Cupid flew toward that light, he took his bow from around his shoulder and a gold-tipped arrow from the quiver. He landed softly on the roof above the room from which the light came. Just as he did, the double doors leading to the balcony opened and out came Psyche, wearing a long white gown as soft as starshine.
Cupid put the arrow against the bow's string. Although he had promised his mother that he would make Psyche fall in love with a hideous man, he knew Venus would be pleased if Psyche was made to appear ridiculous. How he managed to accomplish that was not important.
Psyche went to the balcony's edge and stared up into the night sky. Cupid pulled back on the bow. How much more ridiculous could he make her appear than if she were to be passionately in love with the night sky? All he needed her to do was turn around so he could place the arrow in her heart. But then she spoke:
"O beloved Venus!" she called out in a voice trembling with yearning. "Goddess, please help me. The people mistake me for you. Who could take your place? Certainly not I. I am not worthy to have my name said in the same breath as yours. Do not be angry with me, as nothing would make me happier than to be taken away from all the eyes that look at me with devotion and desire. Please, Goddess. Please help me."
Cupid's arm slowly came down and he released the tension on the bow. He could not believe what he had just heard her say. Those words could not have come from the person his mother had described. This one had no desire to take his mother's place in the hearts of the people. Perhaps there was another palace in the kingdom. But he knew there wasn't. Perhaps this was the good daughter, and somewhere else in the palace was the one of whom Venus had spoken. But, no. She had spoken of how people were mistaking her for Venus. She was Psyche.
Even if he had not understood her words, he would have been moved by her voice, which sounded as if it were singing though it uttered only words. Even Apollo could not coax sounds of such beauty from his lyre.
Was his mother mistaken? As hard as it was for him to believe that Venus could be wrong about anything, he believed she was in error this time. If she had heard Psyche's prayer, she would have seen how mistaken she was. But knowing his mother as he did, he was sure she had not been listening to Psyche's prayer, or anyone else's. Venus did not have much patience for the prayers of humans, especially prayers unaccompanied by offerings, and expensive ones.
He did not know what to do. Should he go ahead and make Psyche the laughingstock of the kingdom because he had promised his mother he would? Or should he go back to Olympus and tell his mother about Psyche and her prayer, tell his mother that she was wrong? Cupid tried to imagine telling Venus she was wrong about something. He wouldn't dare. But he shuddered to think what Venus would do if he disobeyed her.
He raised the bow once more and pulled back on it, waiting for Psyche to turn around. And she did.
She had large dark eyes, straight black hair that hung to her hips and shone like wisdom more ancient than time, a small nose and full lips contained in a heart-shaped face of fragile gentleness and strong sincerity.
She did not look up. If she had, she would have seen what appeared to be a statue of the god Cupid, poised to release an arrow into some mortal's heart. But she saw no one as she reentered her chambers and pulled the double doors closed behind her.
The sound of the doors closing caused Cupid to blink his eyes as if awakening from a spell. His arms came down slowly and he relaxed the tension on the bow. He returned the arrow to his quiver and slung the bow around his shoulder.
He could not believe what he had just seen. No wonder mortals thought she had come to replace Venus. To his amazement, she was, indeed, more beautiful than his mother. She was more beautiful than all the sunrises and sunsets that had been and would be.
A feeling of perfect peace began to permeate his body. For the first time in his eternal life, he wanted to be with someone besides his mother. He wanted to give himself to Psyche's beauty and, thereby, become as beautiful as she was.
Cupid did not understand what had happened to him. If you think about it, that's kind of funny. He was the god of love, but he had never been in love. Love had been a game to him, a game that he controlled with his bow and arrows. But after he saw Psyche, his life would never be again what it had been.
You're probably wondering the same thing I am. What did he see? Let me ask you. What do you and I see when we look at someone and we hear ourselves thinking:
"She is fine!"
"He's hot!"
"I want to get to know her."
"I've got to find a way to get him to talk to me."
Surely Cupid had seen many beautiful women and not been affected. What was different this time? I do not know. I asked the story if it knew, and it didn't. When I think about all the times I have fallen in love (and there have been many, thank Jupiter!), I can remember feeling like I had been startled awake from a sleep I had not known I was in. Have you ever noticed how you feel more alive when you fall in love?
Maybe there are no words to explain what happened to Cupid and what happens to us. That's rather embarrassing for a storyteller like myself to admit. But because I am a storyteller, I know that all knowledge cannot be put into words. When our souls are touched by beauty, words give way to the vocabulary of silence. If we are wise, we submit to what can never be wholly explained or understood. However, if we turn away from the terrifying initiation into the kingdom of soul where beauty is all, we are refusing life.
What choice would Cupid make?
Cupid's Decision
As the god of love stood on the balcony trying to understand what was happening to him, there was the sound of soft knocking on the door to Psyche's room.
"Psyche?"
"Father?"
The door opened and in came a tall, thin man with a dark beard threaded with gray.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you at such an hour of the night?"
The king sighed. "I have been unable to sleep. I fear your mother and I have done you a disservice by allowing you out only one day a month. Yet, when you went out every day, your beauty paralyzed the kingdom. I want to apologize for my inept handling of a complex situation."
"Thank you, Father. I am sorry for the attention I attract. My beauty is a burden for all of us. I wish I knew what it is people see and feel when they look at me. I know only loneliness since my sisters married and moved away. You and Mother are the only ones I have for company now. Everyone else is afraid to speak to me, to ask me even how I am. You have no idea, Father, how cruel beauty can be."
The king nodded. "Your mother and I wonder if we have angered Venus by permitting you to be an object of worship."
"Oh, Father! Mere moments ago I prayed to the goddess and asked her to forgive me if my beauty offended her."
"What would you think if I went to the shrine of the god Apollo and asked him to t
ell me what your future is to be?"
"Is that the wisest course?" Psyche asked, after a long pause. "Would it not be better to go to the shrine of Venus and beg her forgiveness?"
Outside, on the balcony, Cupid was shaking his head violently, and perhaps would have intervened if he had not heard the king say, "The goddess is a being of great passion, and anger is, perhaps, a greater passion even than love. When she is angry, the goddess can be more vicious than the three-headed dog Cerberus who guards the way to the underworld. But the god Apollo is not ruled by passion. And he is incapable of lying."
"What if he reveals my fate to be something I cannot bear?"
The king put his arms around his daughter and hugged her tightly. "Is it not better to know the truth, regardless?"
Psyche laid her head against her father's chest. "I suppose that is so," she whispered, "but that does not make me any less afraid."
Though she spoke softly, Cupid heard every word. His ears were keenly attuned to the words of the heart, and Psyche's heart was so sad he thought he could hear its tears. He wanted to take away her sadness and protect her from anyone and everything that could ever hurt her. But what would his mother say? She would ... would—. He didn't want to imagine what she would do to him or Psyche. But what if Venus didn't know? When she found out, which she eventually would, what could she do then? She might be angry for a while, but that would not last long. His mother wanted him to be happy, and if Psyche was the one who made him happy, Venus would be grateful.
Inside Psyche's chambers the king and his daughter had said good night. Psyche blew out the candles and went to bed.
Cupid remained on the balcony, helpless to leave. He had never been concerned about anyone's well-being, but he cared about what happened to the one lying within. Not until Sun began pushing darkness beneath the western horizon did Cupid, reluctantly, take his leave from the sleeping and beautiful Psyche.
As he flew slowly toward Olympus, he was elated and confused, excited and afraid, awed and angry. Never had so many emotions held him enthralled. He, who had the power to control the lives of mortals and deities, had lost control of his own life. How could that be? How could hearing a voice and seeing a face transform his life so completely? All meaning resided now in a person to whom he had never addressed a word. That was ridiculous! Yet, it was also as true and real as birds' songs welcoming Sun to another day.
I know it's true, and so do you. I remember the first time I fell in love. It was my sophomore year in college. But wait! Did you hear what I said? I fell in love. We fall down, fall off a ladder, fall behind in doing something, but why do we fall in love? And from where do we fall when we fall in love? When we use this verb, are we trying to describe the accidental nature of the experience?
That day I fell in love for the first time, I did not wake up thinking, "I'm going to fall in love today." Love is not intentional. My intent that day was to go to the school library and get a book. I was going through the card catalog to see if the library had the book I wanted. I sensed a presence and looked around, and there she was! That was all it took. I saw her and my soul passed from me to her with all the certainty and finality of night changing to day. She had not yet seen me, but my life now had a meaning it had lacked in all the minutes leading to the one when I looked up and saw her. And all the moments before seemed like ones in which I had been scarcely awake. Now I was fully alive for the first time in my then-nineteen years. (And Sylvia fell in love with me. Whether it was in that instant when she, feeling my eyes on her, looked over at me, or days or weeks later, I do not know. Nor does it matter. It only matters that we held each other's souls for almost three years, but she wanted to marry and I did not. I still had a lot of falling in love to do.)
Like me and like you, Cupid accepted that it was not only possible but rational to love someone to whom he had not spoken—to love someone whose voice he had heard, whose face he had seen for, what? Five minutes? Ten? Certainly no more than that. Yet, this was all it took for him to feel as if he could lift mountains, polish stars, and hold the sun in his hands.
I'm going to get philosophical for a moment since this is a philosophical novel. In love, and perhaps only in love, are the finite limitations of self dissolved and we merge, not only with the beloved other, but with wonder itself. In love, whether it is love of another, of music, art, or whatever, we belong to someone or something and are no longer alone.
Cupid had not known he was alone and lonely. But now that he had joined his aloneness with that of another, though she did not know it yet, he was hers as surely as a smile on her lips was hers.
In joy and gratitude, Cupid laughed. His laughter rolled from one end of the dawning sky to the other, and mortals smiled in their sleep.
Cupid and Venus Talk
As Cupid passed through the firmament and entered Olympus, he had two tasks. One was to talk to Venus. She would probably be a little upset that he had not done anything to Psyche. However, he was sure she would understand after he explained that Psyche was not a threat to her. The task he dreaded was talking to Apollo.
Venus was waiting anxiously in her chambers for Cupid's return, and when she heard his footsteps in the corridor, she flung open the door.
"My son!"
"Mother."
Venus had never seen such a beautiful smile on Cupid's face. "Your face tells me you must have devised something deliciously fiendish for that imposter. So tell me! What did you do to Psyche?"
Standing before his mother, seeing her look of eager anticipation, Cupid frowned as he realized that telling her might not be as easy as he had thought.
"Is something the matter?" she wanted to know. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mother. It's just that, well, Psyche is not trying to take your place. Did you hear her prayer?"
"Of course I did," Venus snapped. "Don't tell me you believed what she said?"
"Didn't you?"
"Of course not. She's more clever than I gave her credit for. But if she thinks that little bit of acting is going to persuade me to withhold my wrath, she is mistaken!"
Cupid could not believe what he was hearing. "But Mother. I was there. I saw her as she prayed to you. She was not acting."
Venus glared at her son. "Are you telling me you didn't do as I asked?"
"I-I thought you would have changed your mind after hearing her prayer," he responded fearfully.
Venus shook her head in dismay. "I can't believe you allowed yourself to be taken in by her! But that merely shows how powerful she is. If she was able to fool you, her powers to deceive are greater than I could have imagined. Now that you know the truth, I'm sure you will do as your mother asked you to."
"Why don't you believe me?" Cupid asked with fervent sincerity. "I was there. I saw her as she prayed to you. I heard her tell her father how devoted she was to you. You have nothing to fear from her. She adores you!"
Venus gave Cupid an indulgent smile. "You may be the god of love, but you do not know the wiles and ways of women, how they can ensnare a male, even a god, it appears, by their pretenses. I know women far better than you ever will. You must not let yourself be taken in by her. Seeing the effect she has had on you, it is imperative that you make sure she never again uses her magic on god or mortal."
In all of his eternal life there had never been and never would be another moment like this one. Cupid had to choose which truth meant more to him—the truth of his love for his mother, or this new truth with its promise of a beauty that would unfold, evermore and evermore. But he did not choose truth. Cupid lied. "Of course I will do as you ask, Mother." With those words, words he had no intention of abiding by, he betrayed himself and his love for Psyche and bound himself more tightly to his mother.
Venus smiled and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and walked away, ignoring the look of sadness on his face. Cupid was disappointed that he had not been able to share with his mother this new and strange joy, this ecstatic confusion, the bewildering awe ent
hralling him. But he did not want to disappoint his mother. However, as he left her chambers, he was disappointed with himself for caring more about her feelings than his own.
It is fearful to merge one's spirit with that of another's. This is why the beginning of relationships can be fraught with terror. Love requires courage, and I am sad to say, Cupid was a coward. In lying to his mother, he was choosing to keep secret his soul's love. True, he kept his mother's love, but he placed himself in danger of losing something of greater value—himself. However, we must be fair to him. He was new to love. He did not know how much courage love required.
Cupid was not accustomed to emotions of disappointment and self-loathing. So he ignored these feelings that might have forced him to stand up to his mother and tell her that he loved Psyche. Instead he convinced himself that by lying, he had mollified Venus. Now he had to confront Apollo, that most formidable of the deities, who would not be as easy to handle as his mother had been.
Apollo and Daphne
Cupid had every reason to worry about meeting with Apollo. He was a god of enormous powers. His realm consisted of the arts as well as prophecy, which was why Psyche's father was going to consult him. He was the god of healing, too, though he could also bring on plagues. Last but by no means least, he was the god of archery, which brought Cupid to the problem. Apollo hated him and, as far as Cupid was concerned, for no good reason.
Back when Cupid was still a boy, a giant serpent named Python was terrorizing everybody and everything. Apollo had killed Python with one shot from his bow and arrow. He took great pride in his feat and was not shy about re-counting it to everybody, more than once.
One afternoon Apollo was sitting on Venus's porch, telling her how he had killed Python with a single, well-placed arrow. Having heard the story more times than she cared to remember, Venus wasn't listening. She was trying to decide whether she wanted the peach-colored or spring green silk sheets put on her bed for the night. She had new sheets put on her bed every evening because, well, because she was Venus and the thought of sleeping on the same sheets two nights in a row was so upsetting that she almost needed to get in the hot tub to relieve the stress of such an idea.
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